


Through a Glass Darkly....

by Jael_Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael_Lyn/pseuds/Jael_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case no one wants turns Cascade upside-down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through a Glass Darkly....

"Ellison, get in my office. Where's your partner?"

Before Jim Ellison could reply, he was already looking at his Captain's back. A very fast-moving captain, who was now in his office, apparently seething. Jim trailed in his angry wake, taking the moment to speculate on his superior's obvious mood. What now? Budget cuts? Trivia from the mayor? Feds on the loose? Simon was volatile, but it took a lot to get him in this kind of a temper.

With a certain amount of trepidation, Jim took a seat in one of the chairs in Simon's office. Simon had tossed his suit coat onto the desk and was staring out the window, arms crossed in front of his chest, fuming. Searching his memory, Jim couldn't think of any recent actions on his part that could have brought on this crisis. He and Sandburg had managed to stay out of trouble for almost an entire week. For them, practically a new record. Ellison had always thought of himself as a courageous man, but keeping a low profile looked like a good bet right now. He waited, silent.

Simon finally turned, making an obvious effort to contain himself. "Sandburg?"

"Downstairs filling out some more benefits paperwork. Poor guy, he thought he was all finished. Apparently he's still missing a couple of forms, or some of the old observer paperwork won't transfer over. He should be back soon. Want to tell me what's up? At the risk of sounding paranoid, did we do something?"

"NO - and I apologize for the attitude. Look, what do you to have on your desk that's active?"

"The Peterson murders are going to the DA today; no court date scheduled. We're supposed to take two night shifts this week on stakeout on the drug import case that Megan is working on. We're working on the assaults in the International District, and we're next on the board for a new case. Everything else is in wrap-up with just the paperwork left."

Simon sighed. "Damn. I really wanted you two on that assault case. We're averaging three a week in that area. Give that one to Joel."

"Give it up? Captain, it's taken us weeks to get anybody to halfway talk to us. Blair is the only one who can get a word out of some of those contacts. They're very suspicious of authority. If we hand that off it will set the meager progress we've made back to square one."

"I know, but it can't be helped. I've been over-ruled on this. I don't want this new case and I don't want you on it. I'll tell Megan to rework the stakeout schedule. Dump the paperwork on Lowell. He's still on desk duty for at least another week." Simon retrieved several files from his desk. "Here. We inherited this because no one else has a clue, no other department wants it and the Mayor is bound and determined to get some airtime by announcing that the Officer of the Year is now on the case. Results at eleven."

Jim groaned. "Noooooo. Doesn't he understand how much harder things are when we we're under the microscope? Dare I ask what it is? Whatever it is, I don't want it."

Simon leaned back in his big desk chair and stared at the ceiling. "Honestly, I'm not convinced that it's a cohesive case. The attacks have been lumped together because they have some similarities, one being that they seem very random."

"Well I'm clueless. What are you talking about?"

"Here's the short version. They're all shootings. Ballistics has linked four different incidents through the weapons. The first four were classed as vandalism - handled by uniform patrol. The entrance booth at the Botanical Gardens and the concession stands at Northview Athletic Fields were shot to smithereens. Two others I don't recall. No witnesses. Just some bullets recovered. Then it was cars - two public parking lots, the city bus garage, and the repair vans at the power company. Case sent to Motor Vehicles. Someone in forensics makes the ballistics connection. Then two drive-by shootings. Back windows blown out on the freeway. Then buildings - mostly at night so there were again no witnesses and no injuries. Motor Vehicles begs off. Stuff gets passed around. The shootings start occurring around more people during less isolated hours. Two downtown banks, just before the doors opened for business. The Emergency Room at Cascade General. The mayor starts getting complaints from people with clout. Last night they took out the modern art in front of the opera house. Still no viable leads. This morning was the last straw - we get put on the hot spot and the Mayor launches into his press conference."

"So what happened this morning?"

"Oh nothing big," Simon retorted, with a touch of sarcasm. "Just another building - all the windows on the first floor."

"So other than the obvious annoying aspects, the mayor and the fact that it will probably wind up that we're chasing a couple of stupid high school kids, why don't you want Sandburg and me on the case?"

"You want a list? Because I don't want to separate you from Blair when he's only a couple weeks on the job as a full time cop. Because Sandburg doesn't need any more attention from the media after what he's already gone through." Simon paused. "And because the building that lost all its windows this morning just happens to be the Administration Building at Rainier University. Three guesses who you need to talk with right off the bat."

*****

"Thanks, Joel. I really owe you one."

"Ellison, it was either that or watch the windows blow out of Simon's office. You and Simon are friends. There was no call for you to lose it like that."

Jim, rubbed his forehead, grimacing. "I know, I know. Just because we're friends doesn't mean we always agree."

"Is that what I broke in on, Detective? A disagreement? Looked damn near a brawl moving toward aggravated assault. You back Simon into a corner like that, you'll be looking at a suspension or worse. He's still a Captain in charge of a major department. Take it from someone who's been there. He won't have a choice. What good will that do Blair? Don't try to tell me that he's not your first priority right now."

Jim looked across the sedan at Joel, who, despite the edge in his voice, was calmly negotiating the traffic on their way to Rainier. "You're right. I know you're right. It's just..."

"....Just that you're not very rational when it comes to your partner. Admit it. And while you're at it, you can tell me how this got so bad."

It didn't take long to rehash. Jim flatly refused to work without Sandburg. He refused to work the case, which Banks pointed out was not an option. Simon relented, about Sandburg, at least. He still wanted Jim on the case and at Rainier ASAP. Jim objected to dragging Blair back to the scene of his most recent humiliation. Tempers flared, and the argument had escalated far beyond reason. They had nearly come to blows when Joel had forced his way between the two men. Silencing Jim, he spoke quietly with Simon, pointing out that any cooperation they might get from university administration would probably be diminished by Sandburg's presence. He volunteered to work the scene with Jim, leaving Blair behind at the station to do background research. Compromise prevailed, and Joel had proceeded to drag a contrite and embarrassed Jim Ellison out of Simon's office and through the bullpen.

"Sandburg will insist you apologize, you know. The last thing he needed was to have you create a scene. All the whispering behind his back is bad enough without adding more gossip to the mix. You just poured a tanker of gasoline on the fire, Jim."

_Whispering. It's damn near shouting with my hearing, and I have to ignore it. Taggart, you don't know the half of it._

Taggart pulled his car into the visitor's parking at Rainier. The damage to the Administration Building was supposed to have been extensive. Campus Security had sealed the building, waiting for their arrival. From their location in the parking lot, Jim could see glass fragments glinting on the walkways outside the building.

Joel looked sternly across the car. "Jim, you're a better detective on your worst day than I ever thought about being, but this is my show right now. You work the scene and I will speak with the Chancellor. You will be polite and we will not have any further stupidity today. If possible, you will be charming."

"Hey, Taggart, don't push it." Jim was half laughing as they exited the car and started across campus. "Charming? You must have me confused with that short guy with the curly hair."

*****

It was early afternoon before they finished surveying the scene and interviewing. Only a few people had actually been in when the shooting occurred. One of those individuals, as luck would have it, was the Chancellor. She had stopped off to pick up notes for a speech to be delivered at a fund-raising breakfast meeting. Alumni and their checkbooks were very high on her list of important priorities. The Cascade Police Department was not an organization which commanded her affection. Retiring to a quiet corner, Jim dialed up his hearing to listen as Taggart overrode her objections. His persistence had extracted more information than they had expected. When she finally stomped out, irritated and complaining about the inconvenience, Jim was moderately satisfied with the results.

She had indicated that at least two individuals had participated in the shootings. They were dressed in sweats and had blended into the student throng immediately after firing. She had only gotten a brief glimpse, having a few moments between when she looked up from her desk to when bullets started flying. Her impression was that they were men, but the unisex clothing didn't rule out the involvement of women. Since damage was occurring simultaneously on the other side of the building, they assumed that others were operating in concert. The whole incident had been over in less than 30 seconds. Neither the Chancellor nor other occupants of the building revealed any information that helped with either identification or motive.

Upon returning to the station, they had briefly reported to Simon. As predicted, Detective Ellison made his apologies to Captain Banks, and said apology was accepted. Joel had helped to break the tension by offering to buy them both boas and book a ring ala World Wrestling the next time they needed a frank exchange of ideas. Both men were equally embarrassed at their lack of composure. 

Jim surrendered his case files for the International District assaults to Joel. He hated to give them up. Sandburg had a real knack for breaking through the suspicion that many of the new immigrants in the district held for the police. His youth and cultural awareness were invaluable. It had pleased Jim to watch his partner slip effortlessly into his familiar anthropologist's role, even if Blair had seemed unaware of it. They were just starting to make some real progress. With promises of full cooperation, Joel departed. Jim went in search of his partner.

According to Simon, Blair had taken over one of the back interview rooms. When Jim entered, he had a distinct sense of de-ja vu. He could have just as easily been entering the office of Blair Sandburg, ABD, in the basement of Hargrove Hall. The floor was littered with files and photographs. A map of Cascade was taped to the wall, decorated with pins in five colors, relating a specific weapon to each crime scene. Another wall revealed a time line of all incidents even remotely associated with the case. A third sported a large chart cross-referencing details form each shooting.

"Hey, Chief." Jim swallowed hard. "Hey professor," had almost rolled off his tongue. It might not have bothered Blair, but for a guilty Jim it hit a little too close to home. "Why five colors? I thought they only identified four weapons."

Blair pushed up his glasses and grinned. "They have. I pulled all the cases in the last year that involved shootings that weren't eventually linked with anything else. Those are the white pins. How did it go at Rainier?"

Jim's eyes drifted to the time line. A quick look revealed that the incidents were occurring closer and closer together. If these were related, they were reaching a crescendo. "Joel was a big help. We set up a table in the Commons to encourage people that weren't in the building at the time but were in the area to come forth and give information. Two uniforms are running it for the day - one is a recent grad so maybe we'll get a nibble. Simon's going to see that someone is there this evening, too." In a softer tone, he continued. "It felt weird being there without you."

"Yeah. Well, all for the best." If Blair was upset, he was covering it well. "I'm sure I'm a persona-non-grata, especially in Admin. I appreciate you trying to run interference for me, but I hope you apologized to Simon."

"Save the lecture. Taggart already filled in for you. Am I grounded?"

"Maybe. Brown and Rafe had a sign on Simon's door - WWF Headquarters. He was not amused."

"I can imagine. So what do you think, Chief? Pretty impressive analysis for only a few hours. Are these cases really related? Is there any sense to them?"

Blair looked up from his reading. "It's kind of early to tell. I think I see some trends, but I really want you to go over everything with me before I jump to any conclusions. We've got a couple hours. Did Simon tell you about the press conference? You, the Mayor and Simon - today at 4:30 - just in time for the 5:00 news, man. Let's see if we can find something to placate with, okay?"

"You got it." Jim settled in next to his partner. "A press conference, huh? I'd give anything to phone that one in."

*****

"Here, Jim." Blair handed his partner a small gym bag. He was slightly flushed from his dash up several flights of stairs. "I put in your blue vest, in case you wanted that instead of a sweater." Jim nodded as he gratefully accepted the bag. He left muttering invectives about 'stupid press conferences' and 'stupid bureaucrats'. While Blair had made the mad dash back to the loft for fresh clothes for the senior detective, Simon and Jim had been preparing their statements for the press conference. "I'll watch you!" Blair joked as his partner trailed away, looking for a place to change. His only reply was a glare over his shoulder.

Blair had done a magnificent job, analyzing the available information in the notably short time available. Even so, he could work no miracles. The forensics evidence from Rainier had been consistent with the other incidents, but knowing that the bullets were coming from the same weapons was a far cry from knowing the identity of the shooter. It also appeared that one or more shotguns had been included in the arsenal. 

The Mayor was already awaiting them in the media room of the station. A freshly dressed Jim fussed with his tie, watching His Honor work the room before the cameras rolled. Jim felt profoundly depressed. They really had nothing new to add to what was already public knowledge, but they needed to give the impression that the investigation was moving along with all due haste. The two men had agreed to keep the discussion of the members on Ellison's 'team' deliberately vague; if pressed they would refer to other members of Major Crimes. Their intent was to keep Sandburg out of the spotlight as much as possible. Most of their time would be spent outlining the new hot line which had been set up to handle any information concerned citizens could offer. Right now they needed information from an eye witness, something to point them toward the identity of the group responsible for this mayhem. Blair had prepared a concise incident summary which would be published in the papers the next day. Maybe someone who hadn't come forward earlier would put two and two together and give them the break they so desperately needed.

A few loosely organized groups of officers, some just coming off duty, had drifted into the room to watch the show. Some watched from the hallway, others had taken seats in the back. Jim stiffened as he began to pick up snippets of conversation.

_"So you think Ellison and Banks can make it without killing each other."_

"Right - quite a set-to this morning from what I hear. That would boost the ratings some. Watch the two big guys beat each other to a pulp. Maybe we'll get interviewed?"

"Ellison will get his ass booted out of here before it's all over - that punk Sandburg is the real problem. Always protecting the pretty boy..."

"That one should never have been a cop, much less bumped up to detective... "

"Well, you don't see him around now, do you? Maybe hot shot Ellison got the word to keep his pet in the cage."

"They'll both get bounced, mark my words. Maybe Banks with 'em."

Jim was just about to make a move in that direction when a firm pull on his arm halted his progress. Simon had noticed the none-too discrete snickers aimed in their direction. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was on Jim's agenda. The last thing they needed was Ellison dispensing a little enlightenment among his fellow members of the Cascade PD. Besides, the Mayor had finished his statement. It was their turn, whether they liked it or not.

*****

The two men sat in silence, watching the press conference. When it was over, Blair teasingly punched Jim in the shoulder. "Not so bad. Next time maybe you can smile when they ask you a question, Jim. You look about as friendly as a Spanish Inquisitor." He wandered off in the direction of the kitchen.

"I don't need to be friendly. I need to be done with this case. Besides, I hate being on television." He took another sip of his beer, settling further into the couch cushions. "Thanks for making dinner. Did you finally get your medical card?"

"Yup. I think that makes me official. I think it's harder to get that medical card than to be declared royalty."

"Now that's a picture. His royal Highness, Prince Sandburg." Jim had to laugh at his friend's expression. "Don't get any ideas. It's still your turn to do the laundry. Let's set a new record. See if you can go more than a week without a visit to emergency."

"Ha, Ha. Very funny. Like it's my fault? Great, Ellison, blame the victim. Fine example you are. Want another beer with dinner or an iced tea?"

"Tea. Maybe we can read through this stuff one more time and get a lucky break." Jim let his mind drift, half listening to the commentator on the local news. If it didn't take so much energy he'd shut the damn thing off. Blair was bustling around in the kitchen, fussing with the final preparations for dinner. It was so like his partner to stay in high gear while Jim crashed on the couch. 

His comfortable drifting was interrupted by the sounds of traffic, moving fast and toward their direction on Prospect. Not really all that remarkable, just loud. Jim absently focused on the sounds, playing with his senses, trying to identify the type of vehicle and how many were coming. He jerked when he realized he had just heard the tell-tale clack of a shotgun."

"SANDBURG! GET DOWN!"

Blair was walking right in front of the large windows which allowed them to gaze over Cascade, carrying plates and silver. The glass exploded before Jim's warning reached him. As if it were happening in slow motion, Jim watched in horror as sparkling, diamond-like fragments engulfed his partner as the gunfire continued to roar. 

*****

Blair couldn't sort out what happened first. One moment he was absorbed in dinner preparations. Jim's warning and the shattering of glass and shots seemed to occur in the same instant. He was thrown forward, particles of glass raining around him. His forehead smacked sharply against the hard flooring, and he was vaguely of aware of Jim's voice, calm yet urgent, placing the 'shots fired - officer down' call to the station. He lay stunned as sticky trails of blood collected around his ear. He heard Jim drop the receiver, call complete.

"Jim, stay put! I'm okay!" Blair struggled to raise his head just off the floor and make eye contact with his partner. Glass fragments were spread like a glittering lawn in all directions. Jim was in his stocking feet; Blair had teased him about leaving his shoes in the living room, seeing as it was a definite violation of house rules. He would rip his feet to shreds getting to Blair. Even the slight movement of raising his head ground glass down his collar and into his neck. There was absolutely no way for Jim to get to him. He imagined that his back and clothing were equally covered.

"You're bleeding, Sandburg." Jim was at war with himself. The urge to rush forward was countered by the obvious obstacles in his path. "Where are you hit?" He had crouched down, trying to come to eye-level with his friend.

"With a bullet? No where, I think. I must have glass cuts - they don't hurt that bad, so they must not be that deep." Blair rested his chin on the floor. "I think every move I make may make it worse."

Despite his racing heart and heavy breathing, Blair really thought he was okay. The two men surveyed their predicament. Pursuing the suspects was a lost cause. They were gone long ago. Blair noticed Jim's silence and realized his sentinel was going into a slight zone. Probably light reflecting off the glass particles. For the sentinel, it must be like being inside a kaleidoscope.

"Jim. Jim, come back. Get your shoes first."

"Right." He had looked away, giving his head a slight shake. Zoned for sure. When he returned, he was carrying an area rug and some blankets rustled from the downstairs linen closet. He began to throw them across the glass, creating a safe pathway across the room. When he finally reached Blair's side, he used the edge of a folded towel to gently brush glass fragments off of Blair's clothing.

"Close your eyes, Chief. Your hair is coated with this stuff."

Blair could feel tiny shards prick at his skin as the towel brushed across his clothing and hair. There was no help for it - he couldn't move without getting some of it off.

"I'm going to stand up, Jim. Pull me up under my arms - I don't want to change positions much." Using the towels to shield his hands, Jim tied to help as Blair struggled to his feet. They could both hear the approaching sirens.

"Shake your head." Glass went flying. Blair bent at the waist. "Ruffle it or something, Jim. I can still feel pieces shifting around." Using the towels and then his hands, Jim did what he could, brushing particles off Blair's neck as he went. Both men tried to ignore the steady trails of blood winding down Blair's face and dripping onto the floor.

"Shed your outer layer of clothes and dump them. Then walk away from the windows." Jim quickly retreated to the bathroom, searching for gauze and antiseptic. By the time he returned to the living area, backup had burst into the loft, Simon Banks in the lead. It took a moment to process the devastation. Blair was standing near one of the couches, stripped down to his boxers at that point. His clothes dotted the room where he had dropped them along Jim's makeshift pathway. Great, Blair thought. I can entertain half the force in my skivvies - that'll do wonders for the gossips. He gingerly wipe at streaks to blood, trying to keep it off the furniture. Jim started to dab at the cuts, clearing his vision a bit. He could only imagine how awful he must look.

"Nice response time, guys." Jim motioned his captain across the room. "Simon, you might want to get some people questioning the neighbors. They came by in some kind of vehicle, maybe more than one car."

"How are you doing, Sandburg? Either of you see anything?" Simon took the bottle of antiseptic and some of the gauze.

Blair shook his head. "I was on the couch, too far back from the windows," answered Jim.. Lowering his voice so only the other two could hear, he continued. "But I heard them. At least two vehicles, travelling fast. Came from the north. Turned east on the next block. I'm sorry. I should have realized what was going on faster." 

Sandburg rolled his eyes. "What am I going to do with you, man. Like you're responsible for this mess. You're not clairvoyant." He sighed as he watched the paramedics arrive and head straight for him. No way to dodge this hospital call, especially when Jim was already in blessed protector mode.

"Look on the bright side, Jim." He grinned crookedly as he was led away. " I can break in my insurance card." Looking back over his shoulder, he called out, "At least we know they caught your press conference."

*****

Blair tossed the remote down on the nearby table with disgust. It was nearly 10 PM, and Jim and Simon still hadn't arrived. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to avoid a trip to Cascade General. Some of the glass shards in his neck and face were so small the ER doctor had needed magnification and fine tweezers to remove them. The real bleeder had been a graze, apparently from a ricocheted shotgun pellet. Nothing had required stitches. Now, as the dozens of tiny cuts started to scab over, his skin felt too tight for his face. He could tell he was going to be miserable for a few days. He desperately wanted the distraction of hearing from his partner.

He looked disapprovingly around the safe house. If this was what being a witness earned you, he was surprised they ever got anyone to testify. Personally, he'd be out the door looking for the criminals. He was tempted to call Jim's cell phone, but that was one of the no-nos from a safe house. He was mildly irritated at being stuck here without his books and computer. Halfway through the glass excavation Simon had sent a uniform over to the hospital to inform him of the new plan and deliver him when he was finished with his treatment. Hours had now gone by and he was tired, cranky, bored and hurting.

He was about to work into a good, much-deserved sulk when he heard car doors slam and Jim's voice. He broke into a grin as soon as he spotted the white box in his partner's hands.

"Pizza!? You brought pizza? Hallelu - I may forgive you after all. Hi, Simon."

"Forgive me? What did I do? Simon has some clothes for you." Blair gratefully accepted the sweatshirt and other items; the hospital scrubs he had borrowed weren't much for warmth.

"You left me stranded here without wheels, and you didn't call. Since when do we need protection?"

"You don't," answered Simon, helping himself to a slice of pizza. "You're here because the loft is unusable. I called a commercial cleaning crew - it will take a lot more than sweeping to get all the glass out. Plus, resetting those windows will take a contractor, unless I want to give Ellison here a week off, which I don't plan on doing."

"How's your head, Chief. I talked to the doctor, but I want to hear it from you." Jim opened the pizza box as Simon retrieved some plates from the small kitchen.

Blair took another bite of pizza. He felt warm for the first time in hours, as much a consequence of the company as the clothes. "They used enough antibiotic ointment to make me feel like a greased pig. What a fate for a nice Jewish boy like me. Other than that, no big deal."

Jim looked at him and said nothing, but his eyes said 'liar - it does too hurt'. Blair was relieved when he let it go, at least for now. "Well, we get to camp out here for a few days. I have more clothes in Simon's car and I brought your computer. We can go in early tomorrow morning and see if the night crew at forensics turned up anything for us."

"How much are the windows going to cost?"

Jim threw Simon a sideways glance. Ah ha, thought Blair; this has already been discussed. "I don't know and I don't care. Simon's going to see if the Department's insurance will cover some of the loss. It doesn't really matter. They've got to be replaced." He took another few bits and continued. We got some leads from some of the neighbors. The physical descriptions match what we got at the university, and we have a partial plate number. They didn't do such a great job covering their tracks.

Yeah, Jim, the university, thought Blair. We haven't exactly talked about that little issue either. Blair pushed that sour thought aside and mentally imaged his charts and research. "It's also a little out of character. Even if we include all the questionable shootings, there's rarely been less than a week between shootings. Maybe they deviated from their normal routine."

The men ate for a few minutes in silence. They were all tired. Blair finally decided to take a shot - something had been niggling at his brain while he sat at the hospital doing his imitation of a pincushion. "You know, you won't find Jim's address in the phone book or anything. Anyone care to tell me how our friends managed to do their little drive-by practically before the news tape quits playing? Barring the possibility that they live in the neighborhood, hopped in the car and paid us a little house-warming visit. I keep getting to answers I don't really like - such as our shooters have a cozy relationship with the media or a cozy relationship with someone at the department. Which option do you guys want to put your bets on?

*****

Well, this is just lovely, thought Blair. Point A, we have a leak for the case from hell. Point B, I was right about the boxers. Point C, I'm going to be exceptionally lucky to keep Jim from killing someone.

He and Jim had gone in early, allowing them to go over evidence from the university and give some direction to the continuing analysis. The evidence collected from the loft had been left for the morning shift. It had been boring, painstaking and tiring work, and Serena had been a good sport about having them hovering in her territory. By mid-morning they had already put in a full day, and both men were ready to take a break. Blair had offered to fetch some coffee and doughnuts. That little journey had been less than pleasant.

He and Jim had bypassed checking in at Major Crimes, wanting to get right down to Forensics. It wasn't until the coffee run that he realized that certain less public areas of the station were decorated with colorful boxer shorts pinned to the walls, sporting the label 'SANDBURG', which had been added in block letters with a permanent marker. He'd shrugged calmly tossed the boxers in the trash, collected their coffee and headed back. He'd worry about doughnuts some other time. It dawned on him just outside Forensics that there were probably more examples. Before he could take any preventative action, Jim had come storming out of the restroom, boxers in hand and murder in his eyes. He barely had time to ditch the coffee before intercepting his partner

"Jim, calm down. It's harmless."

"Get out of my way, Sandburg. You don't joke about what could have been a lethal situation."

Blair shoved in front of Jim once again, practically standing on his shoes. "What are you going to do, spank everyone in the station? Get a grip here."

"I can find 'em - their scent is all over these. No one treats my partner this way."

"Damn you, stop it. STOP." He had finally gotten Jim to pull up short. "This is Junior High, Jim. J-U-N-I-O-R H-I-G-H. Remember? You were there once - spit wads, bad jokes, bullies? Snapping the straps on girls' bras? You're way over reacting, man. Let them have their stupid joke; it doesn't mean anything."

He watched Jim seething. Fortunately, he also seemed to be calming down. "It matters, Sandburg. You're a good cop. You deserve respect."

"And I'll have to earn it. Frankly, Jim, you're just as bad in the other direction. Why didn't you want me to go with you to the University with you yesterday?"

"You didn't need that." At least Jim had the grace to look uncomfortable, and he wasn't surging forward to tear the boxer brigade to shreds. Strike while the iron is hot, Sandburg.

"Maybe - but would you treat any other cop that way? Sheltering them from an integral part of the job? What are you going to do? Screen all my assignments? Every time you do you reinforce the idea that I'm not quite ready for prime time. Can you blame other guys when they act the same way?"

"That's not true. I...."

"It is true, Jim. Now do us both a favor and give up on the sniff and destroy mission." He crossed his arms and watched Jim wrestle his way through his protective urges. He was treated to an honest-to-God Ellison pout.

"They shouldn't get away with this."

"They won't, but you need to let me handle this in my own way. Pounding people into oblivion will just reinforce what they already think. Now hand over the evidence and let's get back to work. Talk to Serena. Be nice. I'll call Rafe or somebody and ask them to collect the rest of these tokens for me. I mean it, man. Go drink your coffee."

Blair couldn't have been more relieved when his partner sullenly left to find Serena. As he placed a call to Rafe, he allowed his mind to take a break from more serious matters to consider an appropriate form of revenge.

*****

"Ellison, we have a press conference to get ready for. Get in here so we can get organized."

Jim rolled his eyes at Blair, who almost giggled in return. "You must have done _real_ bad stuff in a previous life." The merriment drained out of his eyes. "I jotted down stuff you might be able to use. You can spend some time asking for citizens' help." He ruffled through a desk drawer searching for his notes. Eyeing his partner, he continued. "Jim, I know you hate this, but try looking a little less intimidating. You're trying to encourage people, not scare them out of their wits."

"Well thanks for the tip, little buddy. I'll try to be my sweetest with those nice reporters." Blair cracked up as his partner actually batted his eyelashes and pasted a stupid smile on his face. He was halfway to Simon's office when Rafe burst through the door. "Ellison -Sandburg! We've got another shooting." Jim thrust the notes at Simon. "You're on your own, Captain." He joined Rafe and Blair, who were already out the door.

As they jogged down the stairs, Jim could hear Blair laughing. "Rafe and I can take care of this, Jim. You don't have to leave or anything."

"Shut up, Sandburg, or you can walk. And wipe off that smirk, you smart-aleck rookie."

They had just reached the entrance of the parking garage, Rafe in the lead, when Simon clattered out of near stairwell and flagged them down. Blair rolled down the window and called out, "What happened to the press conference?"

"I cancelled it - let's go!"

Jim gave his partner a knowing sidelong glance. "You can think it, but don't say it. You call Simon a chicken and he'll have you washing patrol cars for the rest of your life."

"Ouch - don't make me laugh. It hurts my face."

*****

The most recent attack was at a recently opened establishment called GAMELAND. Advertised as a kids' paradise, it catered mostly to teenagers. The three-story structure housed video games, pool tables, listening studios with the latest sound equipment, a computer area and mini theaters that could be reserved for small groups with the DVD of their choice. Outside, the surrounding area included a pool, miniature golf, a water slide, and a skateboard park. The admission fee got you in for three hours and it was always packed.

At least it would have been packed on a Saturday, thought Jim. As luck would have it, school was in session and it was barely noon. The only occupants were a skeleton crew preparing for the afternoon session, which started at 2PM. The elaborate façade, which had recently boasted a huge wall of neon lights, had been blasted to oblivion. As had been the case at Rainier, the windows on the first floor had been devastated. 

Jim realized immediately they might have a chance with this one. The parking area was quite some distance away. If the shooters had approached on foot, it was a long walk through a relatively empty area. Unlike the University, there was no crowd of students to blend into and make a getaway. This was their best chance so far.

A stocky man in his mid-forties met them at the door. He looked oddly out of place in an environment dedicated to young people. He was slightly pudgy and sported an immaculately tailored suit. He was frantically speaking, or rather, yelling, into a cell phone. When he spotted Simon, he cut off his call and hustled over.

"I recognize you from TV." He offered his hand. "I'm Mac Larson and I own this place. I was here for a staff meeting in the atrium, and made the 911 call. I also need to talk to my damn insurance agent!" His voice rose, and Jim cringed. He pitied the person on the receiving end of that phone call.

Jim surveyed the area. It was a replay of Rainier. Larson interrupted his thoughts. "One of our computer programmers, Marie Franklin, was in a second story office getting some data for us. She thinks she saw the guys that did this. I put her in the main office and told her to stay there. I get your Captain here, but she's all yours." He abruptly turned to concentrate on Simon.

Leaving Simon to his fate, the three remaining detectives jogged off toward what was left of the main entrance. They noticed some empty shotgun shells along their path, but left them for forensics. The evidence teams wouldn't be far behind.

Rafe and Blair went right to work, rounding up all the workers in the building, trying to sort out quickly who might have information and need to be detained. Fortunately, no one had been injured. The atrium was in a central area, three stories high, lit entirely by skylights. The damaged areas did not extend that far into the building. Jim would handle the questioning of their eyewitness. 

Marie Franklin was a petite, dark hired woman. She looked barely old enough to be out of college. She was huddled in an executive desk chair that made her look even smaller. Her dark eyes fastened on Jim's he slowly entered the room, hoping not to startle her.

"Miss Franklin? I'm Detective Ellison. Can I ask you a few questions?"

She seemed willing enough, but only managed a bare nod. Jim was mentally preparing himself for an interrogation that had all the ease of prying pearls out of an oyster, when she began to speak. Her voice was hushed, but steady.

"They were on motorcycles. Dressed in sweats with hoods. The sweatshirts all had some kind of college team stuff on them, and they were all different. I didn't really process which teams or anything."

"That's okay. Just tell me what you do remember. They were on motorcycles?"

"There were four guys and they split into pairs. They went in opposite directions and started shooting."

"Did you see the weapons?"

"I don't know much about guns. The one I saw clearly had a double barrel, like a shotgun. You know, like you see in the Westerns. It didn't look right. It was really short. It seemed like the weapons came out of nowhere. I thought they were just hotshot kids trying to get in early, but then they got close to the building and started firing. They disappeared around back, and I could hear more shots."

"Did you see which direction they went."

"Well, yeah. They left the way they came in - in the van."

Jim froze. "Van? What van?"

"Van - truck I don't know which. Ask me about computers. The motorcycles came out of the van, shot everything up and left in the van. They had a ramp to get in and out. I couldn't see the numbers on the plate, but I drew you a picture." Reaching over to the printer, she pulled out a rough sketch of a truck, complete with colors. "I pulled the colors off the paint program. I think its pretty close. Like I said, I didn't get the numbers, but the plate was dark colored. Not a Washington plate." She handed Jim a flash drive. "I saved it for you."

"Miss Franklin, I'm going to tell your boss to give you a raise. A really, really big raise."

The other half of the operation was less productive. Of the ten individuals in the staff meeting, only two had a fleeting glimpse of the culprits. Forensics, would go over the crime scene, but it didn't look any more promising than Rainier or the loft. Marie Franklin's information, on the other hand, was pure gold. 

Mac Larson had finally finished haranguing at Simon, at it looked like they were ready to wrap things up and head back to the station. At least they would be ready to go if they could find Sandburg. A few minutes of dedicated searching finally uncovered their junior partner in deep conversation with two staff members, madly scribbling on a yellow legal pad. When he caught sight of Jim, he closed off the interview and joined him in the hallway."

"What have you got there, Sandburg? I thought Rafe said no one saw anything."

"They didn't. But somewhere, somehow, there's a connection. Those two guys are supervisors. I was getting details of how they operate, who does their cleaning, contractors that have been in the building, basically anything I could think of."

"You want to stay?"

"No. I can always come back. They're all pretty helpful. I was just casting for straws, anyway."

After a quick check with the evidence teams, they headed out. Jim stiffened as he realized that an energetic welcoming committee was just outside of the yellow police tape.

"Ooops. Look like you guys are going to give your press conference after all."

"Quit smirking, Sandburg."

"Moi? Smirk?" With twinkling eyes he looked at Rafe. "Why, we wouldn't think of smirking at our media stars."

"Let's get out of here. No statements. I'm not done with you either, Sandburg."

They plowed through the usual crush, Simon growling, "No comment." As if anyone paid any attention. They had just cleared the worst of the throng when one particular question froze Jim in his tracks.

"Officer Sandburg, are you wearing your boxer shorts?" His fury was compounded by shock when he realized Blair had turned back to their pursuers.

" As a matter of fact, yes. Are they showing?"

"How do you feel about doing police work in underwear?"

Simon Banks hurriedly planted himself at Jim's side, growling softly in his ear. "Don't do it, Ellison. Don't say a word, don't make a move. Let your partner handle this." He threw a worried look at his curly haired detective. "I will kill him for this. Absolutely kill him."

By this time, Blair had thrown his tormentor his most disarming smile. Uh-oh, buddy, thought Jim. You just got caught in the patented Sandburg high-beams.

"Well, a run to the emergency room won't go on my time card."

"Were you injured, detective?"

"You know, I take a lot of teasing about my many trips to the ER, but this is the first time I've been vacuumed for my medical treatment. No - no serious injuries. I'll be shaking glass fragments out of my hair for days."

"Were you caught unawares? Doesn't this reflect badly on the department? Or is it all just a joke to you?"

Blair looked the last questioner right in the eye. Something in his body language quieted the crowd. This was the young man who could bring 150 bored freshman to heel. Jim relaxed just a fraction.

"Of course we were caught unawares," Blair answered sharply. "This was an attack on a private home, without warning. No thinking person would view a violation of their home a joke." He had their attention now. 

"Cascade PD can't be everywhere at once. This kind of incident just illustrates how vulnerable we all are, and how dependent the investigation is on getting some information from the general public. If I'd been closer to the window or turned a different direction, I could have been sliced to ribbons. This is random, senseless, violence. Someone in Cascade has seen these people. We need them to come forward, before an innocent gets caught in the cross-fire."

"Instead of worrying about my underwear, why don't you start using your access to the general public productively? We have a hotline set up for information. Any of you get that into your last few stories? Who's going to be the first to advise the public on how to protect themselves? Who's put out a checklist of what to watch for and broadcast the numbers to contact if they see suspicious activity? Right now, I'd pose in my boxers if it would get us the information to stop these people."

"Is that a promise, Detective?" That brought chuckles from the crowd. Blair just grinned. "Well, sure. You can broadcast it after we make the arrests. Can we get back to work, now?"

He stalked past Simon and Jim, headed for the truck. The journalists melted away, media moment complete. "Well I'll be damned," muttered Simon. Maybe I ought to let the professor out of the box more often."

*****

"I hate this, Simon. Get me out of this before I just lose it during one of these things."

Banks gave his detective a long, searching look before answering. The attack at GameWorld had apparently been a prelude. They had three attacks since; a strip mall on the north side, a car dealership, and the Cascade Municipal Building, all in the space of four days. Jim was showing the effects of long nights and longer days, exacerbated by the fact that the mayor insisted on this stupid media display twice a day.

"Jim, you know I've tried. The mayor insists that having you available to the press increases public confidence. I'm not sure he isn't right."

"I'm not doing anything you or any competent Public Affairs Officer couldn't do. Every time we do one of these it cost us almost 2 hours of investigative time, and we're doing it twice a day. It disrupts the investigation. I can't concentrate. I'm doing nothing to help Sandburg co-ordinate all the different people we have working on this."

The elevator doors opened, and the men headed toward the bullpen. "Sandburg's doing a good job. You have any idea what he's up to with the 'lunch meeting' he's setting up?"

Jim looked over his shoulder and laughed. "Trust me, Captain. When Blair gets that look in his eyes you don't want to ask too many questions. When he came in this morning, he posted all the signs, had Rhonda clear everyone's schedule, reserved the conference room and started sticking stuff on the walls. I fished for some hints, but the Blair-fish wasn't biting."

"As God is my witness, Ellison, if there's a candle or incense in there I'm going to pitch him out the window."

Jim could hear the buzz of conversation from behind the door as they approached the room. He could also detect the aroma of pizza. What was the kid up to now?

The room turned out to be packed. Some faces he expected - Rafe, Joel, Megan and Brown, who had all been actively helping with the investigation when other duties allowed. He recognized a couple of the patrol officers as ones who had taken some of the initial calls. Serena was there, and much to his surprise, Rhonda. Darryl Banks was sitting next to Blair, grinning over a piece of pepperoni pizza. His cheerful, "Hey, Dad," nearly spooked Simon into the next time zone. Two chairs sat vacant, waiting for the final participants. Any objections they may have had were drowned out by a chorus of greetings and fresh slices of pizza. Jim discretely gave Simon a poke in the ribs. "Welcome to the Sandburg Zone," he whispered.

Blair took a last bite of pizza and stood up. "Great. Since we're all here, lets get started. If you look around, the charts show everything we've compiled about this case. The problem is, we're going to chase these guys from crime scene to crime scene until doomsday. We need to get ahead of them; anticipate what their next move is or what they're trying to accomplish. We're booked in here for an hour. No idea is too zany. I invited some people outside the team so we can get some fresh eyes."

Blair moved to an easel with huge pieces of paper. "I'll write. I'm setting a timer, too. I want ten ideas before it goes off. First question - what's the point?"

"Break glass!" That came from Darryl, who was clearly enjoying himself. Despite Simon's frown, the accompanying laughter broke the ice. As Blair scribbled, the rest joined in.

"Show off."

"Drum up business for Cascade Window and Glass."

"Boost Ellison's news-casting career. ESPN wants him." Jim threw a wadded napkin at the speaker, Brown."

"Scare people."

"Make us look bad."

"Create a diversion." The room went silent. A diversion for what?

"OKAY. Good start." Blair ripped the large sheet off and handed it to Darryl, who thumbtacked it to the wall. The routine continued, question after question. Occasionally, Blair would refer to a list one of his yellow pads. Time slipped away. People became more and more focussed. Jim inwardly shook his head. You had to give Blair credit. No one else would have tried such a thing in the middle of a high profile investigation.

"Next question. Can we rule any objectives out?"

"They haven't asked for money. No threats."

"No link to a cause. No one's called to claim responsibility."

"No monetary gain. No theft or anything like that."

"Is there a pattern to the property they've destroyed? Could it be some weird insurance fraud or something?"

"Can I ask a question?" Rhonda was thoughtfully pulling on a lock of hair. "I've heard everybody say how lucky we are that there have been no serious injuries. Are they really trying to hurt people? It seems like with all the bullets flying around, someone would have gotten in the way."

"We've all noticed that," answered Blair. "The first attacks were in the dead of night with no one around. Lately, they seem to happen just before a crowd is going to be arriving. If it's intentional, are they trying to avoid witnesses or avoid casualties?"

"I think they're avoiding casualties. It would have been easy to take out a couple dozen victims on any of the last 5 or 6 attacks." Joel shoved his empty plate aside and leaned on his elbow. "What if they want maximum attention without blood? We're still back to the same question. Why bother at all? Something else bothers me. What if we caught these guys in the act in the next 15 minutes. What would we arrest them for? For all the trouble they're causing, it's all misdemeanor level when you get right down to it."

Simon picked up that thread. "From an administrative view, look at the resources we have tied up in this case - just in this room! The switchboard's swamped - it's a mess. Like Joel said, these people are making a huge impact with minimal consequences.

Another sheet went up on the wall. Blair wrote the word 'LOCATION' on the next. "We all recognize that we haven't found a pattern here. What does strike you?"

"The sites are getting more public."

"They're scattered over the whole city."

"Maybe that's to confuse us." The room rotated in Rhonda's direction again. She cringed. "I'm sorry," she murmured, looking embarrassed.

"No - no - keep going," coaxed Blair. "That's why you're here. You might notice things we're missing. Why is it confusing?"

"Well, I was talking to some of the people who work in Dispatch. They're having fits every time one of these calls comes in. It's top priority. They get swamped re-routing units for crowd control, canvassing neighborhoods, traffic, that sort of thing. Elsie told me she had one two hour stretch where she didn't handle one call that wasn't for these attacks."

"It's the same in Forensics," added Serena. "Everything gets put on hold when one of these goes down. We talked about it in staff meeting this morning. We're worried about missing things in other cases."

"Are we stretched that thin, Simon?"

"In some cases, yes. Look how many hours you and Sandburg have put in without a break. There's a lot of pressure on everyone. It's starting to show."

"Kids," piped up Darryl.

"The question is LOCATION, son," huffed Simon. Don't interrupt."

"It's OKAY, Simon. Keep going, Darryl."

"Kids - look how many of the last one's involve kids."

"Well, GAMELAND is obvious," answered Jim.

"Not just GAMELAND. I had a friend at the Mall. The music store there was running a two for one special on new releases for some very popular groups. There was going to be an all-city high school choir concert at the municipal building. The time got bumped back an hour at the last minute, or my Select Choir would have been there."

"Wait a minute. Wait just a minute." Blair went diving through his notes. "The car dealership was doing a drawing for baby seats that morning. They were having treats and balloons for any child brought in. Remember, Jim? They had the helium tank in the back and all those balloons."

"But the kids weren't there when the shooting happened," objected Jim. "It's just a coincidence."

"Maybe not, Jim." Megan was impatiently tapping on the table a pencil. "My next door neighbor was planning on entering that car seat drawing. She couldn't stop talking about how she could have had her two babies in the crossfire. No pun intended, but people are pretty gun-shy with their children."

"It's like a bomb scare," commented Joel. "The panic can feed on itself. We could be talking terrorism here."

Their thoughtful silence was abruptly broken as the door to their enclave burst open. "Captain Banks! We have another one!"

Chairs and bodies started moving at once. "Where?" bellowed Simon.

"Cascade Library - downtown branch. Not much damage, but there were a couple gazillion preschoolers there for some special story hour on the second floor. We've got complete panic down there."

"Everyone rolls. Rhonda .."

"I know, Captain."

"The room had emptied in a heartbeat, but Simon took a moment to turn to his son. "I want you to stay here Darryl. We're too close to downtown."

"But, Dad ...."

A sharp look from his father silenced the young man. When you have a police captain for a father you know when to shut up. "I'm proud of you, son. Who would have thought? Kids." Darryl could only watch his father's retreating back.

*****

The downtown branch of the Cascade Library was only two blocks from the station. Built on the site of an old Carnegie Library, the architect had combined brick from the old library with panels of colored glass. A state of the art children's area was located on the second floor. Decorated with bright colors, low tables and pillows, a central area was dominated by a lowered area with a stage reserved for special children's programs. Parents could sit with their children or occupy regular seats, which surrounded the broad circular levels. The actual stage was a good fifteen feet below the level of the rest of the second floor. 

As officers from Cascade Central flooded the area, their first task was to reach the building itself. The panels, which normally enchanted the users of the library, were now a minefield of fragments. Since the first floor was used as a reception area, the panels were selected for beauty. Unlike safety glass, they had shattered into large irregular junks that could easily slice through a light shoe or stick in a heavy sole. As the detectives from Major Crimes picked their way through, they could hear the panicked screams and the sobs of terrified toddlers coming from the second floor. 

The design of the building had actually sheltered the preschoolers from any physical harm. The library personnel had wisely kept everyone corralled on the second floor, not knowing whether the danger had passed. Although the gunman had disappeared, they desperately needed to keep everyone from leaving. The glass, which surrounded the building, was now a greater threat than the flying bullets had been. Understandably, this was not what some of the frightened parents had in mind. Their primary concern was to get their precious charges as far from the library as quickly as possible.

Captain Banks, being the ranking officer on site, took charge of the exterior of the building and the main floor, trying to coordinate the chaos of rescue, police and media personnel who were descending simultaneously. Other Major Crimes personnel raced up the stairs to assist with evacuation and crowd control. Two beleaguered uniformed officers were managing to hold the stairways, but that was about it.

Climbing up on the first table he came to, Jim outlined the danger that awaited outside the building, explaining the evacuation was going to be delayed until their safety was assured. It was all very logical, very reassuring, very professional, and a totally lost cause. The Sentinel of the Great City was no match for seventy plus teary eyed toddlers and their distraught parents. Blair could see his partner wincing under the sensory assault. Jim was clearly losing his patience along with his sensory control.

"Help me out here, Chief. This isn't working, and we're going to be here for awhile."

Blair considered the possibilities. These were good people, but they weren't day care workers. Touchy-feely was not exactly their first impulse. He considered his most likely candidate. Grabbing Joel Taggart by the arm, he proceeded to drag him to one of the now deserted play areas, chatting with parents and children as they went. He spotted a little tow-headed boy with big gray eyes who seemed more intrigued than frightened. Blair scooped him up in his arms, talking a blue streak, motioning the parent to follow. By the time they reached the play area, Joel had a child in each arm and Blair had two more by the hand.

"Hey, big guy, you like trucks?" The towhead nodded. "Well, Detective Joel is the best truck guy on the whole police force and he's going to do trucks with you!" 

"Sandburg," Joel hissed, "are you crazy?"

Blair ignored him, and instead shoved him onto a big blue pillow. He quickly piled a few more kids on to the big man's lap to prevent escape. Blair was arranging cars and kids as fact as he was talking. "What's your favorite color?" he asked, flirting with the little girl in a blue dress, who now resided in his arms. "Is it blue?" he whispered conspiratorially. "Really? Well you get this blue car, just because it's your favorite." 

Across the room, Brown started to chuckle. "Hey Rafe, how long do you think it going to take us to get Joel off the floor? Come on, bud, we may as well grab some of our own and get busy. I get the ones in the Jags jerseys."

Rafe quickly snagged his partners arm before he took off. "Five bucks says Sandburg will get Ellison with some kids before we're done."

Henri looked over at Jim, who had his hands full placating the most strident of the parents who were still demanding to leave immediately, then over at Sandburg. Blair had deserted Joel and was engaging three little girls with a wooden model of a dinosaur. "You're on partner. Not even Sandburg is that good."

*****

Twenty minutes later, Simon Banks was taking the stairs two at a time. He was grateful when the bedlam from the second floor had started to decrease. Now it seemed too quiet. The rescue personnel had cleared a pathway, and they were ready to move the library's occupants to one of the large room in the courthouse where medical personnel and counselors could attend them. What could have gone wrong? Of course, Sandburg was up here and there were books around, so anything was possible

As he took the last turn out of the stairwell, apprehension at its peak, he was stopped cold by the sight. His detectives were scattered around the room, entertaining groups of children, looking like they didn't have a care in the world. Even Ellison. His tall, stoic detective was sitting on the floor with his back against a large overstuffed couch. Two little blond haired girls, one still sniffling, were cradled in his arms. A third was draped across his outstretched legs, turning the pages of an oversized book. Damn, thought Simon, with a twinge of regret. You and Carolyn should have had about six kids, whether you could stand each other or not.

"We're ready to move, Jim."

Jim nodded. "You get to go, now sweetheart. You help your mom with your sisters. Those stairs are pretty tall." The girl turning the pages scrambled to her feet. "I can do it," she answered, "but we need to finish the story."

"Another time, sweetheart." Jim gently handed off the smaller of the two girls to her mother, and directed his charges toward the police officers no gathering at the top of the stairs. "Just go with those officers, Mrs. Lathan. They'll see you out of the building."

"Thank you, detective. I was so scared."

"You had every right to be." Jim turned and started another group toward the stairs, careful to keep things moving slowly. The last thing they needed was a rush and another panic.

As the floor began to empty, he turned to Simon. "We were in trouble with this case before, Captain. What are we going to do now?" 

*****

"The only good part about this is that I don't have to be there," growled Ellison.

The denizens of Major Crimes were crowded around a small TV set in one of the conference room. Simon had just finished his statement concerning the attack on the Cascade Library. The Mayor was now at the podium, announcing that effective immediately the Cascade Police Department was going on a full scale emergency alert. In addition to regular patrols, armed officers would be posted at public venues all over the city in an attempt to protect the general public. The next step was to call up the National Guard. Only events like major riots, natural disasters, terrorist activity or invasion by a foreign power demanded this level of response.

"Armed patrols? No more jokes about a police state, guys."

"We're going to end up shooting each other."

They continued to listen intently. When His Honor implied, without actually saying it, that citizens should feel free to arm themselves and defend their homes, everyone in the room came unglued.

"Forget about shooting each other. Now were going to have grandmas blowing away stray cats. It's gonna be a war zone."

"Ellison - how many vests do we have allocated to Major Crimes?"

"I don't know. Rafe, you and Brown hit our storage area and clean it out. Put everything in Simon's office. I've got my own. Joel, you have anything left over from your bomb squad days?"

"I'll check and bring everything I've got. Break out the uniforms, boys. Don't leave any doubt whose side your on." He departed with Rafe and Brown. All the other spectators evaporated, leaving Megan and Jim alone. She gave Jim a disgusted look.

"I don't believe this. And you Yanks think we're nuts down-under?" She continued in a worried tone. "Jim, how are you going to keep investigating if all the manpower gets pulled off to stand on street corners in riot gear."

"Jim rubbed his forehead. The headache, which had been plaguing him all day, was raging out of control. "Simon and I already discussed that. We'll have to double shift."

"You and Sandburg have been here almost eighteen hours a day as it is. You can't put in more hours. Where is he, anyway"

"Simon sent him with the kids from the library. You know Sandburg. He can perch on the edge of ruin and bond with anyone. Sometime while we were running around he left a message with Rhonda that he was tied up and would see me back at the loft. I don't know what he's up to."

Seated back at his desk, Jim fervently wished his partner would miraculously reappear. He wouldn't start to feel better until his Guide was in the vicinity. Shoving his discomfort aside, he began to sift back through incident reports. He needed to talk with Simon before he left, and he felt guilty just staring off into space. It was probably wasted effort. They'd been through these files at least a hundred times.

At a loss, he grabbed the thin files that described each of the initial attacks. At the Botanical Gardens and the Northview Athletic Fields the officers had spoken with the horticultural director and the head groundskeeper. Nothing particularly informative or unusual there. The night crew at the parking garage and the power company had been interviewed. As he looked through the two drive-by shooting cases, he realized they contained a bare minimum of information. Now that he thought about it, these two early cases were the only ones that that potential victims/witnesses directly in the line of fire, with the exception of Sandburg. He considered his mental image of Sandburg at GAMELAND, scribbling pages of what seemed like meaningless information during his interviews. He didn't really have anything else better to do. Maybe he'd pay these people another visit.

It was almost midnight when he pulled the Ford into the parking area at the loft. He'd re-interviewed the drive-by victims, then returned to the station. Simon needed his help designing a new duty rotation. He reviewed the physical evidence from the library with Joel. Then he did some more digging. On impulse, he'd taken notes not only on the victims, but their roommates. By the time he headed home, he had cursory information on all the residents of the two apartments that he had visited.

Lights shone through the windows of the loft, and he could hear Sandburg's heartbeat. What was he doing at this hour? When the door of the loft swung open, Jim couldn't help but recoil. The furniture had been pushed back against the wall. Sandburg was sitting on the middle of the floor, surrounded by his charts and notes from the station, typing on his laptop.

"Sandburg, what are you doing? This place looks like the inside of a paper shredder."

"Hi, Jim," he answered without looking up. "I saved some Chinese for you."

"You didn't answer me. What are you doing?"

Blair pushed his glasses back up his nose. "I snuck into the anthro department today. Right before I - uh - left, some of the TA's in archeology were raving about this new modeling software. It's used on archeological digs where you're trying to coordinate artifacts on a complicated site. It looks for patterns in three dimensions and allows you to correlate with time, age of the artifact, actually. I'm trying to adapt it for our case. What time is it?"

"Midnight."

"Really? Last time I looked at a clock it was before seven. Go get something to eat. I'm busy."

"You can't work all night," called Jim form the kitchen as he dug through the fridge.

"You are kidding, right? Remember who you are talking to."

Jim wandered back toward his partner, carrying a beer. His plate was in the microwave. It took him a minute to decide on a place to sit. "That might have been okay when you weren't facing armed criminals the next day on zero sleep."

"Trust me, big guy. Freshman are a lot scarier than the guys with the guns."

Eventually, Jim ended up as the data retrieval clerk. It saved Blair the time of both looking up the information he wanted and typing it in. He was digging through Blair's notes from GAMELAND when he stopped and flipped back a couple of sheets.

"What's this notation, Chief? Patterson CS?"

"Patterson Cleaning Service. That's who does the maintenance and cleaning. I remember thinking how ironic it was that the same service does work at places as diverse GAMELAND and the Cascade PD. Kind of made me laugh, you know?"

"Shit." Jim was scrambling across the floor. Blair stared at his crazed partner as he dug through his jacket pockets.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't tell you. I re-interviewed the two guys who had the back windows blown out of their cars. While I was there I made notes about their roommates."

"So?"

Jim looked up from his notes. "Would you believe both of them have a roommate employed by Patterson Cleaning Service?"

"You're kidding. We've been through these files over and over and never found any kind of connecting thread. A cleaning service?"

"Remember when were grousing about how the shooters got our address? We were thinking leak at the station, or a reporter. Could a cleaning guy do it? Get the jump on the news conference? Find the addresses?"

Blair considered. "Maybe. Probably. You wouldn't believe the kind of information I've been able to sweet-talk out of clerks or secretaries at Rainier when I needed it."

"Damn. How did we miss this? Maybe it's just coincidence."

"Jim, look at me." A sly grin was plastered across Blair's face. "What if I tell you that Patterson sends its crews out in gray vans?"

*****

It took several hours for the computer model to run. In the meantime, the two detectives hit the files, charts and notes with new gusto. Now that they had something to look for, the 'coincidences' were multiplying. It looked like they had gotten their first real break. It was still pretty shaky, but they were encouraged. Jim debated about calling Simon, but a look at the clock and the memory of his Captain's haggard face laid that thought to rest. It could wait until morning. Eventually they ran out of steam and crashed on the couches. Blair set an alarm for 5AM. That was approximately when the model should finish its work.

Jim brewed some coffee as Blair poured over the data coming off the printer. Jim watched closely as he returned to the laptop and sent a new set of instructions to the computer.

"It says there's a pattern, but I can't really visualize it. There's a graphic option for the results. I'll try that. This will take a while."

Jim made a run to the bakery. When he returned, laden with fresh bagels, his partner was placing single sheets in a grid pattern on the floor. Blair, totally absorbed in his project, absently accepted a bagel with cream cheese. As Jim peered over his shoulder, he realized skeleton layout of Cascade was appearing before his eyes.

"Thanks. Umm - fresh! The computer says it's kind of an irregular spiral."

"So how would someone get that kind of a pattern?"

Blair looked thoughtful, then crawled across the floor to the printer to collect the next sheet. "You could pick your targets ahead of time, then connect them together in the pattern you want - like dot to dot."

"Why not do it randomly?"

"Well, even when you try to do random, you tend to come up with some sort of subconscious pattern. They probably figured that it would be to vague to pick up."

They had another lull waiting for the printer. "So answer me this, Sandburg. Why all the early hits? Why move to high profile?"

"What if the early ones were trial runs? You know, work on timing, procedures, that kind of thing. Maybe the drive-by-shooting guys are in on it. What better way to conceal your involvement than to be a victim?"

"Okay. Let's run with this. Someone on the cleaning crew could give you building layouts, schedules. That might explain how these guys always seem to manage to hit right before all the people arrive. One problem. It seems like someone would have recognized them if they're working in the places."

"Maybe not. The crews could be rotated. Maybe they're just getting information from the crews and the gunners are someone else. It's possible that the cleaning guys don't even know they're being pumped for information." Sandburg scrambled away to get another sheet and place it.

"We're still missing something." Jim stared toward the walls. Sometime during the long night his partner had posted the charts from their working session. "It still bugs me. If I had to pick a motive right now, my guess is that terror is the object. If that's the case, these guys are either showing off or there's another deeper reason that we're still in the dark about."

"Yeah. Hard to get glory when putting your name on it gets you arrested. Maybe I should cruise the net and see if anyone's bragging on a bulletin board or chat room." He watched his partner in silence. "What is it, Jim?"

"Just thinking about what Rhonda said. If we were getting overloaded before, what is it going to be like now that we're all on continuous patrol? What would be made more vulnerable by having everyone on alert? It seems like it would be harder to accomplish a planned crime, not easier." He watched Blair put down the last sheet. He peered over Blair's shoulder. "What have we got?"

The two men perched on the back of the couch, peering at their masterpiece. Dawn had broken, casting pale yellow rays through the interior of the loft. Before joining him, Blair had added wide marker strokes to more clearly identify the spiral which seemed to sweep across the neighborhoods of Cascade. 

"Do we have a city map around here somewhere?"

Jim retrieved the requested map. Blair quickly marked out a wide swath in pencil. "If we're even partially right, the next attack would be in this area. What's out here that might be a target?"

"A school?" suggested Jim. "That would have kids. Playground, sporting events, shopping...." He studied the map. "This section's mostly warehouses. There are two schools, but it's Saturday. Not much scare value in blowing up the math class when the rooms empty."

Blair was scanning the newspaper. He located the daily sports catalog and shook his head. "Not much going on this weekend. A lot of teams are out of town. What about parks or public buildings?"

Jim shook his head. "Nothing sticks out. There's a complex of soccer fields, but playoffs were a week ago. They'd be deserted now. The botanical gardens are in your swath, but they've already been there."

"Did you recycle our papers for the week already?"

Jim looked decidedly annoyed. "What is this, the eco-ranger quiz? I haven't been home long enough in the last week to read the paper, much less recycle it."

"Excellent!"

"What? I'm being praised for my lack of environmental sensitivity? You've definitely been up too long."

"No, man. Maybe there's some community event going on that two overworked guys like us haven't heard about. Here." He shoved a wad of newspapers Jim's way. "Start looking."

"I want sports. What am I looking for?"

"Anything that would attract lots of people. And you can't have Sports, you'd just read about the Jags instead of helping me."

They flipped pages in silence, discarding one section after another. "Hey, buddy, you been holding out on me? Says here that the Mayor's oldest daughter is getting married. His favorite detective got an invitation, right? I can be your 'and guest'."

Jim glared. "No, Sandburg, I did not get and invitation, and if I had one I wouldn't go. The only thing worse that a wedding is a political wedding."

I don't know, man. Sounds pretty good. Champagne, food? Says here a breakfast brunch for four hundred at the SunGarden in the..." His partner looked up, shocked. "In the botanical gardens."

The door had slammed before the last paper fluttered to the floor.

*****

It was just past 7 AM when the truck screeched to a stop. Rather than take the main entrance, they had circled around to a more remote section, hoping to conceal their approach. The Cascade Botanical Gardens was a large sprawling area. The rolling landscape had been sculpted into several unique gardens with forested areas between, all connected by walking trails. A central grassy area had recently been developed into a more public setting, bordered by flower gardens and blooming trees. A substantial donation from the business community had recently added a covered pavilion, reminiscent of some grand Victorian greenhouse. Starting about 30 feet in the air, a chrome superstructure supported curved glass panels, creating a sort of roof or gazebo. Controlled by a state of the art computer system, the panels could be tilted to either transmit Cascade's rare fits of sunlight or refract the rays into glorious rainbows of color. The effect was striking, and it had become quite fashionable to reserve the area for parties, or in this case, weddings. The floating panels of glass served a dual purpose. When adjusted properly, the rain that was more typical for Cascade dripped from panel to panel, sheltering the area below.

Jim's longer legs had him in the area more quickly. The area seemed empty except for a lone photographer setting up under the pavilion. Brightly colored tents, apparently for the reception, were still closed. The caterers were probably due to arrive shortly. Jim halted at the edge of the long sweep of lawn. Blair nearly crashed into him from behind as he caught up to his speedier partner.

"Anything?" Blair panted.

"Not that I can see. Just the photographer. Maybe we're wrong."

"The mayor has private security arranged, but they aren't due until nearer the ceremony. I remember seeing one patrol scheduled to be here around nine or ten to help out. We could leave it to them. Try with your senses, Jim. Do you hear anything?"

Blair watched his Sentinel closely. First a slight tilt of the head, then the eyes drifted shut. "The photographer's talking to himself. I can hear someone opening the office at the other end of the main parking lot. Nothing else." He shook his head at his partner.

"Jim, somehow I just know we're right. Maybe we should call for backup."

"I hate to without anything more to go on. Besides, if we scare them off we'll be back to square one. Let's go talk to the photographer - see if he's noticed anything."

It was deceptively quiet as they moved up the grassy slope. Blair shivered slightly. Even with a coat, the damp morning air was chill. He envied his partner, who never seemed to notice the temperature. They had been in such a rush; Jim hadn't even grabbed his leather coat, which usually hung by the door. He'd grabbed the light windbreaker that was always left in the truck for emergencies. They stopped at the crest of the slope, carefully scanning in all directions.

"Chief, why don't you check out the reception area - I'll take our friendly photographer."

Blair grinned. "This is a match made in heavy. Jim Ellison and anything involving a camera lens."

"Watch it or I'll make you do the next press conference."

The photographer had moved off a short distance, adjusting a camera which would probably cover the processional. "Morning. I'm Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. I'd like to speak with you for a few minutes."

The photographer looked up from his work and smiled. "Sure. Just a sec." He made a last adjustment and straightened up. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

"For a start, can you fill me in on the schedule?" Jim noticed Blair was heading towards the other side of the lawns where a doublewide paved walkway led from the main parking lot; the tents must have been uninformative. He was distracted by a soft growling noise that he couldn't quite place. The noise got louder. Jim turned away form the photographer, both curious and concerned. He turned up his hearing just in time to hear the telltale snick of a clip moving into place.

"Chief! Get down!" He shoved the photographer to the ground and started toward Blair, but it was too late. Before he could take a step, their four shooters rocketed over the hill which blocked the view to the main parking lot. They were moving fast - the growl was the sound of roller blades on the pavement. Blair had wisely thrown himself to the ground at Jim's warning, but one of the skaters whipped around and began firing toward his prone partner. Blair rolled to the cover of some shrubbery, apparently unhurt.

Jim caught the lead skater in a flying tackle before they really realized he was in the area. The second, having no time to adjust, stumbled and went head over heels into one of the elaborate flower arrangements. The third swooshed by Jim as he was struggling to his feet. He pulled his revolver, conscious that shots were still being fired behind him where Blair had been.

Blair had lost site of his partner when he had rolled behind a hedge of large lilac bushes. He scrambled the length of the hedge, keeping low, as bullets shrieked through the shrubbery above his head. A cloud of petals shook loose behind him. Blair ignored the gunfire - the guy was either a terrible shot or was deliberately aiming high. His only thought was on Jim, alone with a civilian and the three remaining gunmen.

As he rounded the hedge, he realized his pursuer had left the paved walkway, probably trying to catch him. Fortunately, the grass was damp and soft. The roller blades sank into the turf, dumping him unceremoniously into the grass. Gun drawn, Blair was already running the other direction, back toward the pavilion, where Jim was rising to face his remaining adversary. The man began firing, not at Jim but directly at the huge glass panels above his head. The glass exploded, but unlike window glass, didn't shatter. Blair watched in horror as foot long daggers knifed their way toward his partner.

There was nothing Jim could do. He had gone to his knee, gun up, arms braced in front of him, shouting the automatic, "Freeze! Police." As glass hailed down around him, one of the shards sliced through the inner surface of his outstretched arm. His usual leather coat might have shielded him, but the light windbreaker afforded no protection. Blood fountained into the air.

Blair could have pursued the suspects. Even alone he might have kept one from escaping. Instead, he drug the photographer to his feet and shoved the camera into his shaking hands. "Get some pictures!" he yelled, as he dashed to his partner's side, hoping Jim wouldn't bleed to death before he reached him.

*****

Blair dropped to his knees, quickly trying to roll Jim so he could get to the source of the worst bleeding. Jim was weakly grasping at his upper arm. Blood freely pulsed through his fingers. Rather than fight through the shredded nylon of the windbreaker, Blair nearly tore the sleeve off the offending garment.

"Jim! Look at me. Come on, stay with me here. Turn so I can get a better look." He pried Jim's fingers away from the wound. The extent of the danger shocked him. The shard has sliced through the muscle, cutting nearly to the bone. With each strong beat of his partner's heart blood gushed from the damaged arteries. No amount of pressure on this wound was going to slow this down. Jim's face was ashen. His eyelids fluttered - he was already going into shock.

"Oh, my God. What can I do?" It was the photographer.

"Jacket pocket - get the phone. Press 1. Tell them 'officer down' and to send an ambulance." Blair re-directed his attention to his partner. "Easy, Jim. Try to stay awake for me." He could vaguely hear the photographer in the background.

"Are you wearing a belt?"

"Yeah." 

"The take it off and cinch it around his upper arm. Tighten it down as much as you can. He's losing way too much blood. Damn it, where is that ambulance?" Blair longed to wrap a reassuring arm around his friend, but it was impossible. Even gripping with two hands the blood continued to puddle on the ground beneath them.

In his last conscious gesture, Jim weakly wrapped his failing fingers around his partner's strong wrist. "Chief? ...sirens...."

"Whatever you say, Jim. Whatever you say. Don't you die on me, Jim. Don't you leave me here by myself."

*****

"Did all of the men escape, Captain Banks?"

Once again Simon faced the glare of the lights. The essential information about the most recent attack had already been dealt with. Right now he wanted to get off this blasted podium and away from these people. He had a more important job to attend to.

"For now. I won't discuss the details, but the information obtained by the Cascade PD will have an immediate positive effect on the investigation."

"How did the officers know where the attack was going to take place?"

"I repeat, I will not discuss any details of the investigation."

"Can you inform us on the condition of Detective Ellison?"

"His condition is grave, and he's still in surgery. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to check on his status and the investigation. Any further statements will be available through our Public Affairs officer."

"Captain Banks, do you still think the department is adequately protecting the citizens of Cascade?"

Simon answered that question with a glare as he swept from the room. He barely resisted the urge to strangle the idiot. Rafe was waiting for him as he burst through the door into the adjoining hallway.

"Where's that photographer?" he growled. "Did you and Brown get his statement?" 

"Kinda. He's in the forensics lab, developing his own pictures. We couldn't talk him out of it. Scared Serena half to death. He's an immigrant and he keeps yelling at her in Russian. Kept saying the photos would do his talking for him." They completely ignored the few other officers loitering in the hall. Forensics beckoned.

"This is getting to be a habit, Tom. How long are we going to keep crashing these press conferences? We're supposed to be on patrol in front of the courthouse."

"Ah, don't get your knickers in a knot. You gotta love it - watching Banks squirm and sweat under the lights, making excuses for his so-called best detective. So hot shot Ellison got himself a trip to Cascade General. What do you bet that's the end of the hippie so-called partner?"

"Who said it was Sandburg's fault?"

"Don't be dense. Serves 'em both right. Let's get a coffee."

"We need to be on patrol. Come on, we'll get our asses in a sling for not being where we belong."

"Yeah, yeah. Guess the show is over here anyway."

*****

"Mr. Sandburg? I understand you're here for Detective Ellison?"

"That's right. How is he? Can I see him?"

"He's stable. We're transfusing, trying to get his blood volume back up. For awhile it was pouring out as fast as we could pump it in." The surgeon paused, noting Blair's shaky condition. "Sorry. I shouldn't be so graphic. You and the ambulance crew did an admirable job keeping him alive so we had a chance to save him."

"Recovery?"

"We've got the arm immobilized, and like I said, we're transfusing. The worst is over."

"Will you let me see him? He'll know I'm there."

"In a minute. Son, don't you think you ought to go home and clean up a bit?"

For the first time Blair took note of his blood soaked shirt and jeans. Jim's blood. He swayed slightly, thinking how close it had been. Jim's heart had faltered and nearly stopped in the ambulance.

"Steady there. Is there anyone who can drive you home? He won't be conscious for awhile."

"No. I mean, I just can't leave. Can I borrow some scrubs? Please?"

A slight nod met his pleading eyes. "This way - I'll help you get what you need."

*****

"Marie Franklin said the van had a dark colored license plate. This one's bright red."

"Maybe they're changing the plates with every job. It's an easy way to keep anyone from tracking them through the plate. Joel, what's on your mind? I can see the wheels turning clear over here."

Taggart pushed his chair back from the conference room table. "I just don't like the progression. If you follow this case from the beginning, the trend looks pretty ominous. At the start, I would have said kids, just dumb kids, for sure. Petty vandalism, even the drive-by shootings don't take a genius to pull off. Then they start picking targets that send messages. They shoot up Ellison's place just to let everyone know the cops aren't going to stop them. They hit GAMELAND and the mall and the car dealership so you know your kids aren't safe, you aren't safe. The library, even the university, now we're talking someone that knows the local area, someone who will take the time to plan carefully. I'm not thinking kids any more, you know? Then the whole thing ratchets up. Our shooters are savvy enough to find a unique event in a high-profile location. How many people in the average population know that the library runs a high tech story hour on a given day? And who's there? Families with enough leisure time and income to bring their children downtown in the middle of a workday - people with enough influence to have the whole PD on alert before the day is out. Now we move up to the wedding of the mayor of Cascade. We've got out of state plates, apparently more than one, which indicates a higher level of planning and more resources. So we're definitely not talking kids, and maybe this isn't even local."

Simon stared back at the conference table, now covered with photos. They could make out faces, they had a vehicle description. "We keep coming back to 'why', don't we. Until we can answer that question, these guys are light years ahead and we'll never catch up." He stood up. "Look, I know everyone goes out on a patrol shift during the next 12 hours, but keep thinking. We'll meet tomorrow at ten so all of you can get a few hours of rest. Rafe, will the forensics people have the enhancements of the photos by then?"

"They promised, Captain, but everyone clears out at five. All of their personnel have been assigned night shifts at the temporary command posts."

"Well, check on it before you leave tonight. I'll be at the hospital. Be careful, all of you. We're not going to lose anyone else in this department to the crazies."

*****

Simon gently opened the door, trying to keep quiet. The only sound was the soft beep of a monitor. A figure clad in green hospital scrubs was seated in a plastic chair by the bed. Sandburg turned his head and smiled briefly, disturbed by the opening of the door.

"Come on in, Simon. He still asleep."

"Asleep? Not worse?"

"What? Oh, no - not a coma or anything. Just shock, and probably exhaustion from all the blood loss." He glanced toward the tubes running into his friend's arm. "They just started a new unit of blood."

"What do the doctors say?"

"That he'll be okay. There was a lot of damage, but it was a clean slice. Easier to repair, I guess. We were lucky not to lose him, Simon."

Simon stood shoulder to shoulder with his rookie detective. "I have to admit, when I got to the scene, it looked like ten people had bled to death. You guys shouldn't have been out there without backup, but we'll have that discussion another time."

Blair sighed. "I know. It just seemed like such a long shot."

"I suppose you won't consider going home for a few hours? Get some clothes? You must be freezing in that getup."

"I can't, Simon. You know how Jim reacts to drugs. I don't want him to wake up with his senses out of control and not be here to help him." Blair softly stroked his friend's hand. "He was in surgery for hours, Simon. That's a long time under anesthesia for anyone, much less someone like Jim, who has all sorts of special considerations."

"What if I go get some clothes for you? Maybe bring back a meal?"

Blair looked gratefully at his boss. He retrieved his keys from the top of the nightstand, dropping them softly in Simon's hand. "Would you bring back his white noise generator? It should be up by his bed somewhere. I think there are some silk pajamas in his dresser. If he has trouble with his sense of touch he might need them."

"Sure, Sandburg. Now about a meal...." Simon allowed his voice to drift off. Blair had already turned away; his concentration focused once again on his sentinel. Knowing it was pointless to continue he headed for the door. His hand had just wrapped around the knob when a hushed voice pulled him back.

"If you look on the floor, there's some new information we were working with. Have Rafe come - he's good with computers."

"I'll do that. My cell phone's on, call if you need anything." Simon softly shut the door. He was already speaking with Rafe before he made it to the parking lot.

*****

Blair Sandburg was a very unhappy man. Well, I've got great company, he thought with a shrug, thinking back a few hours. He surveyed the room. The mess he and Jim had made with the computer printouts and case documents had been moved to the conference room in Major Crimes, probably by Rafe. His own futon had taken their place, along with a collection of things Blair anticipated his friend would need when he arrived.

To call the final scene at the hospital 'ugly' would have been a gross understatement. Blair's worse fears had come to fruition. When Jim came out of the anesthesia from the surgery, his senses were totally out of control. The monitors, the smells, the medications were simply overwhelming. He tried to convince himself that he had done his best for his sentinel, but it was cold comfort. His brain simply couldn't erase the memory of Jim, covered in blood from the still dripping IV. Among the many tortures he was enduring, the burning of the transfusion needle in his arm had simply become too much. Despite the heavy bandaging hampering his injured arm, Jim had had managed to yank it out rather than tolerate it any longer. In the first of many battles, Blair had held his sobbing friend in his arms as he fended off a small army of medical staff, intent on replacing the IV.

So began twelve hours of escalating crises, culminating with Jim's insistence to leave the hospital AMA, and leave immediately. Blair regretted the fact that he was unable to level with Jim's doctors. In a strictly medical sense, they were 100% correct; Jim Ellison had no business leaving the hospital. Blair wondered if their outrage would be tempered by the knowledge that Jim's deteriorating sensory control was sure to negate any progress he might make under Cascade General's care. As the argument had reached its crescendo, sensing that Jim was on the edge of totally losing it, Blair had finally had to lose his temper to get everyone concerned out of the room. The only compromise Jim would make was that transport to 852 Prospect would be by ambulance, simply to placate the medical staff. The hospital had already called. Jim was on his way and would arrive in minutes.

Blair sank to the floor. He knew he couldn't make it too full meditative state, but he needed to calm himself. He tried to push his own exhaustion and emotional overload aside. Jim would need all of his skills when he arrived.

A persistent knock on the door brought Blair back to full awareness with a start. He scrambled to his feet, wondering if he had simply fallen asleep. Great start, Sandburg. They'll probably take one look at you and take Jim right back to the hospital. He was relieved to discover that the EMT personnel with Jim were ones they knew. As Jim was maneuvered over to the futon and settled, Tony Brice drifted over to Blair's shoulder.

"He seems pretty weak. Are you sure you can handle this?"

"It's what he wants, Tony. We'll be okay."

Tony examined the young man beside him critically. Sandburg looked as wiped out as Ellison did.

"I brought you more instructions from the Doc's. I gotta tell you, they were talking about appealing for legal intervention. You're both taking a huge risk here."

"It's our choice, Tony. Even if they could get a judge to believe that I'm incompetent, Sandburg's still empowered to make the decision for me." Jim winced as they began to move him to the futon.

"Ah, he speaks," joked Tony. "Don't worry. Most of us in the medical community realize that there are standard procedures and then there are procedures for you two. How many times have you guys crashed ICU or left AMA? As soon as I heard you were in, I knew you were coming right back out." He turned to Blair, handing him a small slip of paper. "This breaks every rule in the book, but if you have problems, call me. I come off shift in a couple of hours. Even if all I do is sit here for awhile and give you a break, I want you to call."

"Thanks, Tony. I really think we'll be fine."

"Yeah, yeah. And the Lone Ranger and Tonto never stubbed a toe or got a cold, either. Call." With a final wave, he and the rest of the team hit the elevator.

"Well, Jim, we've really done it this time. You're scaring me to death, man. If that wound opens up, you could lose your arm. Remember, you promised me you'd cooperate."

Jim wriggled on the pile of pillows. "They're just trying to scare us. I feel better already. My hearing is all messed up, though. Your heart beat sounds like a base drum. Just make me some of your weird tea and come talk to me."

If only it were that simple, thought Blair.

*****

"You're sure your okay? This is silly. I'll just tell Simon I can't stay."

"Blair, Simon needs you right now more than I do. Pull your shift on patrol and don't fret."

"You've only been home 24 hours. I should have called Tony. I never should have left you there alone, especially at night."

"Chief, we've been over this fifty times. My senses have settled down, I feel stronger. I'm going to lay here watching TV until I fall asleep. I'll be sawing logs when you get here. How tough is it?"

"You won't break your promise and get up? You need to take you antibiotics."

"I gave you my word I would stay down. I'm perfectly capable of swallowing two horse pills on my own. I'll take them right now, so you can check that off your worry list."

"You know that my phone is on. Are you sure you have everything?"

"Yes, Mom. With the stuff you left for me, I could get through a nuclear winter. Now go do cop things. I want a full report when you get home."

Jim gently pressed the 'end' on the cell phone and returned it to the small table by his perch. If Sandburg called one more time, he was going to turn the damn thing off. Well, maybe not. If he didn't answer, it would just bring his worried partner at a dead run, followed by an ambulance and the probably Canadian Mounties. Nope, the phone would have to stay on.

He settled back in to watch the TV. After flipping through a variety of channels, he finally settled on a basketball game. He dozed comfortably as the teams chased each other back and forth across the small screen. He'd have to thank Blair again for getting him out of the hospital. This was such an improvement. It was worth infuriating every doctor in Cascade to get here.

The sound of the phone jarred him from sleep. Automatically he fumbled for the cell phone, but it wasn't ringing. The regular telephone jangled again. Blair must have forgotten to turn it off. He quickly checked the clock - it was nearly midnight. Jim briefly contemplated getting up to answer - it was an odd time for a phone call. Remembering his promise to Blair, he settled back down. The answering machine would have to get it.

He relaxed as the answering machine played the recording of his own voice. The message, however, nearly jerked him upright.

"Detective Sandburg? Detective Ellison? This is Peter Kwok. I hope you remember, I'm Sung Mae Kwok's grandson. My grandmother insists that she needs to speak to you right away, but you know her English isn't very good and she asked me to call. I should probably call the station, but she insists it has to be you." The teenager's voice continued, leaving two numbers. One was the number for the Kwok's restaurant; the other must be a cell phone or a home number.

The Kwok family had come to Cascade in the 70's along with many other ethnic Chinese who fled Viet Nam. The extended family had stayed in Cascade, and now owned several very successful businesses in addition to the original restaurant in the International District. The entire show was directed by Sung Mae Kwok. Mrs. Kwok was now a diminutive lady in her seventies. She was also one of the first victims they had interviewed on the assault case they had turned over to Joel. Jim smiled. It had been difficult to determine who had been the victim. Mrs. Kwok used a cane and had brained her assailant several times when he came after her handbag. She had been spitting mad when they interviewed her, occasionally breaking into strings of unintelligible Chinese as her temper overtook her. Sixteen year-old Peter had finally come to the rescue and translated. She had turned out to be a perceptive observer and provided them with some of their first real leads. Not surprisingly, the old lady had hit it off with Blair, and in the weeks since that first interview they'd been the recipients of a variety of teas, Chinese folk medicines and one truly spectacular dinner. Jim waited a minute, then tried the second number. He had picked up the sound of street noise, so that number seemed like the best bet. Peter answered.

"This is Detective Ellison. What can I do for you, Peter?

"I'm so glad you called. Grandmother is driving me crazy. She was going to make me drive over to your house."

"What's this all about, Peter? Why not call the station?" He could hear Mrs. Kwok ranting in her native language. She must be upset.

"I know this is going to sound crazy. Grandma had me drive her downtown. She had this special dinner to deliver, and you know she doesn't drive. Anyway, we're getting ready to go home and this van goes by. She whaps me upside the head and tells me to follow them, 'cause Mr. Amaonov told her that the bad men were in a gray van."

"Peter, you're losing me. Who's Mr. Amanov?"

"This is so confusing. Mr. Amanov lives in one of our buildings and has lunch at the restaurant every day. He's the photographer that was at that wedding, the one when you got hurt? He told Grandmother how brave you and Mr. Sandburg were and how you saved his life and that the guys that shot everything up were in a gray van." Jim heard Mrs. Kwok's voice rise with more rapid-fire Chinese. "Yes, Grandmother, I'm telling him. Grandmother says that the men that shot you are in this van and she wants you to come right away."

"Where are you, Peter?"

"Parked about a block away from the police station. The van pulled up to the rear entrance and unloaded at least 10 guys. Now you know why I didn't call the station or go there."

*****

Jim tossed the cell phone to the floor in frustration. He checked the clock. Nearly 10 minutes had passed since he had spoken with Peter Kwok. He had tried Blair's number, Simon's, even Joel's. Something was very, very wrong. In desperation, he had dialed the station, but the voice which answered did not belong to Officer Gill. He'd known Brad Gill since his rookie days, and that was not the right voice. Jim had hung up without a word.

Slowly, he rolled to his side and sat up, then pushed to his feet. He leaned against the wall, steadying himself as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He was wearing sweats, but he needed shoes. The stairs looked like an impossible mountain. He carefully mounted the first two steps, anticipating the lecture he was going to get from Blair. No matter. His body was going to cooperate, no matter what.

Another lifetime seemed to pass before he struggled into the truck. He tried all the numbers again to no avail. He made one last try to Simon's home number.

"Banks residence, Darryl speaking." Jim could hear the young man yawn.

"Darryl, this is Jim Ellison."

"Jim? What time is it?"

"Listen, Darryl, this is an emergency. Did your dad tell you where he was working tonight?"

"Actually, he just called. They got a phone tip that there was going to be an attack at some music festival. Everyone was rolling and he called to say he couldn't bring home pizza."

"Darryl, this is important. I need you to go get your dad and have him call me. Use the cell number."

"Do you need me to come over? Are you okay?"

"No - I can't reach anyone, but if they think they're stalking the shooters it makes sense. They'd turn their phones off during an operation. I'm heading for the station right now and I need to meet them there."

"What?! Dad said you were supposed to be in bed."

"Darryl, this is not a debate. Something is going down at the station, and I need Blair and your Simon and anyone else they can get. Tell them communications are probably compromised. Get going. Tell them not to go into the building. I'll be somewhere outside, at least a block away from the main entrance." Jim hung up. Bracing himself, he lowered his injured arm and shifted into reverse. Pain sliced through him with the movement, but he ignored it. He had no choice but to go. For the first time in his life Jim wished for an automatic transmission.

He estimated that he would have between 15 to 30 minutes before someone from Major Crimes met him, if they came at all. His initial destination was the rear entrance of the station. He pulled to a stop about a block away. Even for this time of night, the area was strangely deserted. Blair had commented that with so many officers and staff on 24-hour patrol, almost no one was left in the building. Even secretaries like Rhonda were handling communications at temporary coordinating sites. Thinking back on earlier discussions, perhaps that was the point. The best way to get into a police headquarters was to suck everyone out somewhere else. Question was, why?

Peter Kwok's description was accurate, except 2 larger delivery trucks had joined the gray van. One lone man lurked in the shadows nearby. Using his vision, Jim easily recognized him as one of the 'roommates'. Well, that piece of the puzzle fit. Without turning on the headlights, Jim eased back out and took a circuitous route around the perimeter of the station, never coming close enough to be spotted. He quickly discovered that each entrance had a lookout in Cascade PD uniform, but none of the faces were familiar.

He parked the truck near the intersection where he hoped to meet the other members of major crimes. A steady half-hour of driving had left him woozy, but he needed more information. He climbed out of the truck, steadying himself with a hand on the hood. Twenty feet to the building corner; surely he could manage that. Unfortunately, the pavement had decided to rock like the deck of a ship in a storm. He hit the curb as he tried to step up onto the sidewalk. He crashed onto the cement, barely having time to turn his body away from his damaged side. The impact echoed through his body as he lay there, finally struggling too his knees. Clutching at the thickly bandaged limb, he pulled it close to his body. He tried to ignore the sensation of skin tearing at the many stitches he knew were there. His destination couldn't arrive soon enough. 

Slumped by the corner, he peeked around the corner of the building. The front of the station, usually brightly lit was strangely dark. He settled back to concentrate on his hearing. The least, or perhaps the most he could do, was to scan the building and try to figure out what was going on.

*****

"Simon, there he is! By the corner."

Blair was out of the car before his captain had even pulled to a halt. The two cars following him dodged for parking places, which wasn't hard. The street was deserted. Simon suspected that his son was bringing up the rear, despite strict orders to the contrary. Blair was already kneeling by the shadowed hump that was apparently Jim Ellison.

"Jim, are you okay? I swear, I'm getting a cage or you're going back to the hospital. Take your pick."

"Hey, Chief." Jim rolled in Blair's direction, still seated. "Who's with you? Let's go through this just once."

"All the Major Crimes guys we could pull without being noticed. What is going on?"

"How many people would have been left in the station when you guys left tonight?"

"Not many," answered Simon. "We left Gill on the desk. The word went out for all shifts to remain in place. The new rotation had just gone out. Maybe a couple of people per floor. A lot of areas just locked up completely."

"The jail personnel would still be there, wouldn't they, Captain?" Brown and Rafe had just joined the group.

"Yeah. They're all in the basement. They went to maximum lockdown a couple days ago because we were pulling everyone into the field and they were so short handed."

"What about evidence lockup, Simon?"

"Sealed as far as I know, except for one shift during the day. Any incoming evidence was to go to the safe behind Gill's desk in the lobby."

"Well, here's what I can piece together. The gray van we've been chasing is parked out back with two big trucks. An eyewitness said they saw at least ten men entered about an hour ago. Brad Gill isn't answering at the desk; some stranger is answering in his name. We'll have to assume that they've taken Brad out." Jim looked apprehensively at Joel. The two men were good friends. Joel was godparent to one of Gill's daughters. "I can hear activity in the basement - that's the jail. Everything else is on the third floor." He heard Blair's gasp. He hoped his partner understood. There was just no time to concoct a story to hide his senses right now. If he couldn't trust this group after all they had been through, they would just have to move to another country. Or another planet. "So, Simon. What's in evidence right now that's worth weeks of maneuvering and this kind of risk? Do we have any big drug seizures or anything that went down recently?"

"Damned if I know. You seriously think that's what is going on?"

"I can hear them looking through the inventories, packing boxes, that sort of thing. The trucks say they're hauling stuff. Go figure. My guess is that they planned on being in and out before anyone comes back."

Simon stood. "I can call units back in."

"No way, Captain. If Jim's right, any major movement on our part will send them running. If they have Gill's desk, they can monitor communications." Joel shook his head. "They must have someone from the PD to help set this up. We don't know who to trust, who to call back in. We might blow it."

Blair had lost his look of pure panic. He rested a hand on his partner's shoulder. Jim had taken a fateful step, and they would have to live with it. "How sure are you about their location?"

"Positive."

"Look, Evidence has only one real entrance - by nature it's restricted access. We don't have to take them. Why don't we just lock them in?"

"It might work," answered Simon. "But we still have to get to the third floor undetected to do it."

"Hold it. Someone's talking to the guy at the desk." Jim listened. "They're pulling out in 10 minutes, blah blah blah."

"Can you see who it is, Jim?"

"I tried once. The lights are shut off, and the privacy glass screws up my vision anyway."

"Try again." Blair looked at the others. "We're already outed. Go for broke, big guy."

Jim scooted back to the corner. He felt Blair's hand between his shoulder blades, his voice whispering, guiding. A few paces behind, the members of Major Crimes watched, fascinated, as their suspicions took shape before their eyes. Jim seemed to be making progress.

 

"How long have you know, Captain? whispered Brown, without taking his eyes off his two fellow detectives."

"Since the beginning."

"...We see through a glass darkly, but then face to face...."

"Scripture, Joel? Now?"

"Corinthians, Simon. Appropriate when you see a miracle, don't you think?"

Jim turned with a grin on his face. "They've pulled the guy from the parking garage - I can get us in from there. Give me a hand here, Brown. I seem to have a little trouble navigating. And you will not believe who we're going to catch in the box when we lock the door. Sweet - oh so sweet."

They made rapid progress across the parking garage and into the building. As Blair had so aptly noted, now that they were out, Jim was free to use his skills in this relatively sheltered situation. They literally followed behind as the invading troops were pulled back to Evidence. When the coast was clear, Simon made a dash for central communications to put the building in full lockdown. He was one of the few people in the department who could do it solo, so he would have no trouble overriding any plans their guests had made. As the bars slammed into place and doors automatically locked, Simon used the central communications to announce to the now-trapped contingent that they were under arrest and being videotaped. The assembled Major Crimes personnel had to stifle their laughter when they listened to their Captain Mirandize the entire bunch by intercom.

Simon Banks would later admit it was one of his finest hours in law enforcement. He relished the retelling later - of how one Marcus Jefferson Burke - aging head of one of the largest crime families on the West Coast, had shook his fist helplessly at the video camera and demanded to see his attorney.

Epilogue

The sound of clicking heels rattled through the main reception area of the Cascade Police Department. Ten strong; confident, immaculately dressed, all public figures in their own right. Their apparent leader approached a stunned Brad Gill, who was at his usual place, guarding the entrance. After a hushed conversation, he rose and directed them down the hallway to the main elevators and the interior of the building. Officers and co-workers in the surrounding area fell silent, watching this strange scene unfold.

*****

Upstairs, Simon Banks leaned back in his chair, feet on the desk, relaxing for the first time in weeks. A court date was usually greeted with universal dread. Today, however, had been poetry, pure poetry. Today, he and the other members of Major Crimes had been present at the arraignment of one Marcus Jefferson Burke. It had been worth the price of admission to watch Burke's high priced LA lawyer try to convince the judge that his client had ended up in the evidence lockup of the Cascade Police Department in the middle of the night entirely by accident.

The judge didn't buy it. Surprise, surprise.

The whole story had spilled out in bits and pieces. Turned out that Marcus Burke was facing a great crisis in his miserable, criminal life. First and foremost, even the millions collected through a lifetime of illegal activities could not overrule his doctor's diagnosis of cancer. The infamous Marcus Burke was not to see another Christmas. To add insult to injury, his favorite nephew had foolishly decided to branch out in the family business and had been arrested by none other than Jim Ellison. His case was due to come to trial within the month. The young man had been quite careless, and the evidence against him was overwhelming. Conviction was almost a foregone conclusion. Marcus Burke was horrified at the idea that this spoiled, impetuous, and dearly loved young man would be spending 5 to 10 at Walla Walla while he himself departed this mortal coil. 

Burke's pride and desperation overruled his usual strategic genius. The only way to have his nephew at his side to was to vaporize the evidence against him. He also wanted to take his revenge on the Cascade Police Department. Combining the two seemed like the perfect solution. He wouldn't just steal the evidence against his nephew. He would stage the ultimate humiliation and strip the evidence room of anything he could sell at a profit; drugs, jewels, cash, material suitable for blackmail, the possibilities were endless. The pending cases against who knows how many criminals, petty and major, would disappear without a trace. He would go to his deathbed laughing at the authorities he had evaded for so long, his nephew at his side. It would be his final triumph, and so the plan was hatched. He would taunt the Cascade PD, using methods that would cost him next to nothing, result in minimal charges and create maximum panic. The old man had come a hair's breadth from pulling it off. The packing boxes they had caught him with had 2 million dollars worth of drugs alone. Why was an old man, in failing health, in the middle of such a wacky scheme? Apparently he didn't trust even his lieutenants with the evidence against his nephew. If he could plan a little blackmail, so could they. Henri Brown had had to pry the carton with the young man's evidence from his gnarled grasping hands before the handcuffs could be settled into place.

Ellison had been right that fateful night - the resolution to this nightmare case was indeed sweet. Ellison. Simon gazed thoughtfully through his office window, watching Jim at his desk, laughing with the other members of Major Crimes. Now there was an unresolved issue. Although Jim had been in court this morning, his little midnight foray had required some minor surgery to repair and had definitely set back his recovery. It would be weeks before he would return to duty. Sandburg would need to be reassigned in the interim. Simon Banks had not become a police captain by being uninformed. He knew quite well that his newest detective had endured one incident of harassment after another. The infamous boxer brigade, while very public, had been relatively minor by comparison. The young man was much more vulnerable without Ellison at his side. He would need to be shielded.

*****

"Tom! Tom! Get over here - get a load of this."

"What the hell? Isn't that Margo What's-her-name? From the evening news?"

"Yup. The one in the blue is an Assistant DA. The tall redhead owns the biggest software business in the city." The two officers watched as the parade of lovely women moved past their vantage point. 

"Looks like the damn runway at the Miss America Pageant or something. Where are they headed?"

"Looks like Major Crimes."

"You have got to be kidding."

*****

The commotion from the bullpen startled Simon from his deliberations. He did a double take as he surveyed the crowd, which had gathered around Sandburg and Ellison. Some pretty high profile faces in this group.

"Captain Banks, how nice to see you again." Simon sputtered intelligibly as he shook the hand of Margo Simmins, anchor extraordinaire. "We need to borrow Detective Sandburg - he has told you about this, hasn't he?"

"Well now, Ms. Simmons, he may have left out a few of the details. Why don't you just fill me in." He glared at Sandburg. Ellison just shrugged. "Don't look at me, Captain. I just got sprung from the hospital."

"Well, Captain, surely you remember that Detective Sandburg promised to pose in his boxers for us when an arrest was made?" Oh no, groaned Simon inwardly. This is not happening.

"Yesss. I do seem to remember something like that."

"Well, Detective Sandburg did point out that he didn't promise a public photo session. So the Civic Women of Cascade organized a little auction, you see, all proceeds being donated to refurbishing the damage at the library."

"Oh, how nice. Continue please. I'm fascinated." Simon continued to glare at Sandburg. "Dare I ask what you were auctioning?"

"Oh, each of these ladies were successful bidders for a pair of autographed Blair Sandburg boxers, complete with an evening on the town at our expense. We've raised over $5000 dollars for the library."

"You bought his underwear?" Simon asked, incredulous.

"Well, not his, exactly. He said they were part of a little harmless joke here at the station. That's right, isn't it, Blair?" Blair nodded, his most innocent smile plastered on his face. "It was the perfect solution, with the tie-in for charity and all. Anyway, we need to take some publicity photos downstairs to kick off the continuing fund raising for the library, and then we all need to schedule our dates." She patted Simon on the arm. "This is a wonderful gesture on the part of Major Crimes to let us in on this little joke. The mayor was quite pleased. It'll be the lead story at six."

"Well, by all means, we're happy to do our part, ladies. You will return him so we can get some work done, won't you?" Simon managed to keep a smile on his face as the entire group trooped out, Blair in tow.

"You can yell now, Captain. They're in the elevator now." The room erupted in laughter.

"Shut up, Rafe."

"Don't yell at me. All I did was collect the ones that were hanging around the station. I didn't know he was going to do anything with them." The room erupted again. Joel was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.

"Ellison...."

"Don't look at me, Simon," sputtered Jim. "You were the one who said we should let the kid handle this on his own. Your exact words, if I remember correctly."

"I also said I would kill him. When Chippendale boy gets back tell him I want to see him in my office, pronto."

"I don't know, Captain. His date book's going to be pretty full..." The slam of Simon's door finished the statement. They managed to wait a full two seconds out of respect for their captain before breaking down into gales of laughter again.

On the other side of the door, Simon Banks was smiling. Maybe the kid wouldn't need his help after all.


End file.
